


heart of moss

by cusTutZo



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Minecraft, Zombie!Wilbur, light gore, majority angst and fluff, male reader - Freeform, male reader fics are way too rare, warm bodies situation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cusTutZo/pseuds/cusTutZo
Summary: Wilbur was sort of a zombie villager.His village being abandoned years ago, leaving he and other victims of a pack of zombies to wander at night, and sit in their little deteriorating homes during the day. Wilbur however had stayed in a mostly human appearing state, other than the green tint to his skin, and the dried wounds.Life for the village went undisturbed, until a group of adventurers happened upon the ruins they all called home.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Reader, Wilbur Soot/male reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Part one will be short, as I still need to plan each one out. If you have any feedback to offer on my pacing, grammar, etc. please do leave it in the comments, I'm very open to criticism on my work.

Old worn out dress shoes dragged against the overgrown path, dust lightly kicking up as the form moved forward, nudging it's body forward in a lethargic manner. The sun was rising, meaning everyone needed to return indoors, for their safety. As the form was able to get up the steps, it squeezed past the small gap it'd previously left, and used it's shoulder to push the door back closed, as it had been at dusk. It dragged forward more, before feeling itself being stopped by something in it's path, a twin sized bed, with a blood stained yellow duvet on it.

Wilbur hadn't remembered the last time he slept, nor could he actually remember anything. Hell, he couldn't even form coherent thought, he was a corpse, so there isn't much to expect. Although, Wilbur unlike most of the others left in his village, could move more like a human, which allows him to lay down during the day. He liked to imagine he could feel the warmth of the duvet, that he could feel how soft it is. Zombie's skin is entirely numb, they have little to no blood circulation, and on top of that majority of their nerve endings stopped working once the infection started to spread. Thinking of this, he mindlessly reached his cold right hand to his first unhealed wound. It was his bite mark, as he touched it, only being able to indicate he had by the inability to push his hand further, he pulled his hand away; he was vaguely able to see flakes of dried blood on his mint toned fingertips. He closed his eyes, even if he couldn't feel anything, at all, he liked to believe pretending to sleep made him feel well rested when dusk came again. The calm quiet of the village would have been relaxing to any living creature, it was peaceful.

Patches of moss had made it's home in between and on nearly all cobblestone in the village, vines doing nearly the same, growing up the walls and inside of homes made primarily of the stone. The roofs on each wooden building was old, and weathered, splintering from years and years of no maintenance. Sections of logs were sun-bleached, and some parts of the ground and wooden walls still had arrows and blood splatter, some handprints of those believing they could climb up to escape. The history you could infer from one inspection of this village was amazing, with even the street lights, the ones that hadn't been broken, still in tact. All felt right in the moment, but Wilbur began to hear chatter. This cause his eyes to open with no hesitation, and he sat up, moving fast as to lot miss what may be happening.

A group of humans were coming closer and closer to their village. They were an odd bunch, especially with the Piglin standing beside a man in nearly all green. What seemed to be the youngest two of the bunch split off temporarily, heading towards the blacksmiths area of the village. Wilbur knew it'd be empty, the man who worked there before the villages abandonment had been able to make it out alive. His children not being as lucky, who had then perished in the sun years previous; they were why everyone knew to stay indoors during the day now. The man, the Piglin, and another man seemed to all split, beginning to search houses. Wilbur was standing up when he heard gurgling noises.

Peering out his window, he watched as another zombified villager was slain in a house diagonal from his. And for the first time, Wilbur felt something.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza realized something about this zombie villager.

Wilbur felt overwhelmed by this upset feeling, he couldn't remember what this emotion was called, it'd been so long since he felt it as well. He didn't have time to stand up though, as his door swung open not to long afterwards. The zombified man did not flinch at the loud creaking of the door, but the older blond man in the doorway did upon seeing him. Wilbur's eyes met the older man's.

Something told him the man didn't see Wilbur as a threat, but he didn't move closer. He instead backed out of the door, and called out to his group, who began regrouping near the house. He'd asked something of them, although Wilbur couldn't make out what they were saying, so he leaned his shoulder into the wall and started pushing himself up as it's the only way he could stand up. He saw through the window next to the door that the Piglin had pulled a bottle of florescent orange liquid out of his belt loop.

The door was opened again, and this time the Piglin stoop in front of Wilbur, Piglins were a creature he did remember, back when the village was still running, a traveler had told him about them, but he'd never seen one up close. They looked pretty similar to the regular wild pigs that wandered into the village occasionally.

His observing of the creature in front of him was cut short by the florescent orange bottle being broken at his feet, giving him a strange feeling. He attempted to step back, bit stopped upon the sound of crunching glass from the broken bottle. The Piglin, with what sounded like directions from the man behind him, moved closer into the house, making Wilbur feel a small pit in his stomach.

Was he going to die too? What was in that bottle? Who were these people? Why wasn't he attacking them?

He felt himself being slightly pushed towards the door, to which he began walking closer to it, but then the pit got bigger as he realised the sun was still out. He attempted to turn around, but being close enough to the doorway have someone the opportunity to pull him out, and restrain his arms to his lower chest as to not allow any chances of being bit by the zombie.

It was one of the other men, not the youngest, but the one walking with the Piglin and the older man initially. Wilbur was directly in the sun now, trying to fight the grip of the man restraining him, fear of brining alive rushing through him. He continued until something was slammed into his head, making his vision slowly blur. He couldn't feel the pain from it, but as he slowly drifted into an unconscious state, two things happened

One was, another bottle was thrown at him. Second, he realised he was not burning in the sun. He was at least able to black out without so much fear, but how? Was it the contents of one of those bottles? it had to be, or maybe he didn't burn in the sun? He was already a bit more human than the other zombies, maybe he had a resistance to it?

After the zombie went limp, the older man was sure it would be fine, the healing potion should've prevented it from dying. The other man handed off the living corspe to the Piglin, who slung it over his shoulder, and the group allowed the old man to lead the way.


End file.
